Chapter 11: The Collar in the Lecture Hall
The walk to the Transmutation hall felt longer than it ever had. Each footfall echoed the new, hollow silence inside him. The absence of his mana was a physical void, a missing limb he kept trying to flex. Students flowed around him in the high-arched corridors, their auras whispering with potential energy—a flicker of heat, a shimmer of frost, a crackle of static.He was a blind spot in that current, a stone in a stream. His hand rose, again and again, to hover near the collar, never touching it, just feeling the dead air that haloed his throat.
The lecture hall was already half-full, the murmur of pre-class chatter bouncing off the ancient stone. Morning light, filtered through stained-glass depictions of alchemical principles, splashed lurid colors across the tiered seating. Cedric hesitated at the entrance, scanning for an isolated spot near the back, somewhere to vanish.
“Thornwood.”
The voice cut through the ambient noise, clean and commanding.He knew it instantly.His eyes snapped to the left.
Samantha Hinkley sat in the third row, center aisle—a position of deliberate prominence. She was a vision of casual power in a tight-fitting emerald tunic, her blonde hair a perfect cascade over one shoulder. Her griffin familiar, a sleek creature the size of a large cat with gleaming feathers and watchful eyes, perched on the back of the empty seat beside her.Samantha patted that empty seat.
“Sit.Here.”
It wasn’t a request.It was a territorial claim.
Cedric’s feet moved before his mind could protest. He navigated the narrow steps, acutely aware of the glances that followed him—some curious, some mocking. He slid into the seat, the ancient wood creaking under his weight. The griffin gave a low chuff, sniffing the air near his collar, then settled, its gaze fixed ahead with avian indifference.
Before he could arrange his books, Samantha’s hand darted out. She grabbed his chin, her grip firm, and turned his head sharply to the side to examine the collar in the multicolored light. Her fingers, cool and smooth, traced the etched runes along the metal. Her expression shifted from bored curiosity to sharp recognition.Her smirk didn’t fade, but it gained a new, calculating edge.
“So that’s what the little demon was buying at the artificer’s quarter,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.Her thumb rubbed over the O-ring, testing its solidity. “A Gilead Seal.Class three. Nasty bit of craft.” She leaned in, her perfume—jasmine and something sharp—engulfing him. Her breath was hot against his ear.“You’re even more helpless now, aren’t you?No magic. No will. Just a pretty little leash-boy with a fancy choke-chain.”
She released his chin with a slight shove, but her hand descended below the broad wooden desk. Her fingers dug into the muscle of his thigh, squeezing possessively. The pressure was casual, almost an afterthought, but it pinned him to the seat as effectively as any spell.
“Don’t think this means I’m going easy on you,” she continued, her voice a low, conversational purr as she gazed forward, pretending to organize her notes. “If anything, you’re going to need me more than ever.Who’s going to stop Elias Vance from turning you into a toad now? Your imp? She’s the one who put you in the cage.”
Before he could form a thought, let alone a response, the side door to the hall opened, and Professor Lighttouch entered. A hush settled, though it was a loose, familiar one. She moved with a distracted grace, her tall, slender frame draped in a slightly stained grey scholar’s robe. Unruly red hair escaped a loose bun, framing a face that was sharply attractive behind thick, circular spectacles. A dog-sized lizard with iridescent scales, her familiar, scuttled at her heels and settled itself on a warm patch of sunlit stone near the lectern.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice dry and clear, carrying easily through the space without effort. “Open your texts to page two-four-seven. Today, we continue our discussion on the transmutative states of base minerals, specifically the delegation of will in sustaining temporary form alterations.”
As she spoke, she paced, her eyes scanning the room.They passed over Samantha, over the griffin, and landed on Cedric. They paused.A faint frown touched her lips. She pushed her glasses up her nose and continued speaking, but her gaze kept drifting back to him throughout her introductory remarks.
“The key,” she emphasized, turning to write on a floating slate of dark energy with a piece of pure white chalk, “is not raw power, but precise, sustained will.You are not forcing the mineral to change. You are convincing the latent magic within it to follow your conceptual blueprint. A poor will yields a poor form—brittle, temporary, unstable.”
She set the chalk down.“Practical demonstration. You’ve each been provided with a nugget of lead. Your task is not to create gold—that’s third-year vanity—but to transform it into a simple, stable silver ring. The shape is simple.The metal is amenable.The challenge is the constancy of your will. You have twenty minutes. Begin.”
A clatter of stone and metal filled the hall as students retrieved their lead pieces.Cedric stared at the dull, grey lump before him. He felt Samantha’s hand tighten on his thigh.He picked up the cool, heavy metal.
He closed his eyes, reaching for the internal wellspring he’d always used.Nothing.A dry, silent pit. He opened his eyes, focusing on the lead, trying to channel intention through sheer desperation. He visualized the ring, the smooth band, the cool sheen of silver.He pushed.
A faint, sickly yellow glow sputtered at the edges of the lead nugget.It lasted for two seconds before dying. The nugget remained unchanged.Sweat beaded on his temple.
A soft, silver light bloomed to his left.He glanced over. Samantha held her piece of lead cupped casually in her palm.It was softening, flowing like liquid mercury, wrapping around an invisible mandrel. Her expression was one of mild boredom.Within a minute, a perfect, gleaming silver ring rested on her palm. She blew on it gently, cooling it, and slipped it onto her finger. She wiggled her fingers, admiring the shine.Then she looked at Cedric’s untouched nugget. Her eyebrow arched. “Problem, Thornwood?”
“I… it’s not…”
“It’s the collar, isn’t it?It’s sealing you shut.” She didn’t whisper. Her voice was a normal, carrying register.A few heads in the rows ahead turned slightly. “Here.” She plucked the lead nugget from his desk. “Watch.”
She held it in her fist, closed her eyes for a brief moment, and then opened her hand. The lead had reshaped itself into a simple, thick band.But it was still lead.Dull and grey.
“See?I imposed my will, but I didn’t bother with the transmutation of substance. Just form.” She took his hand.Her skin was warm. Before he could react, she slid the lead ring onto his finger.It was too big, clunky and cold. “A token.From me to you. So you don’t feel left out.” Her smile was viciously sweet.“Miss Hinkley.”
Professor Lighttouch’s voice was directly behind them. They both flinched. Samantha’s hand retreated from Cedric’s as the professor leaned between them, her curious gaze fixed on the lead ring on Cedric’s finger, then lifting to the metal collar around his neck.Her lizard familiar peered from around her robes.
“A curious choice of focus object, Mr.Thornwood,” she said, her tone neutral, academically observant. “But the assignment was silver. This is untransmuted lead.” She then looked squarely at his collar.Her eyes, magnified by her glasses, traced the runes. The faint, pleasant dryness left her face, replaced by a still, professional severity.“That is a binding sigil. A Gilead Seal, unless I’m mistaken.”
Cedric could only nod, his throat tight beneath the metal.“Your familiar placed this on you... Did you agree to this?”
He nodded again.
Professor Lighttouch straightened up, her lenses flashing as they caught the light. She spoke clearly, her voice carrying to the nearby rows that were now pretending not to listen. “A Gilead Seal is an advanced binding artifact. Its primary use is to train unruly familiars who can wield magic of their own, to prevent accidental channeling or deliberate disobedience.” A murmur rippled through the surrounding students. Her eyes, sharp and inquisitive, locked onto Cedric’s. “The irony of it being on the summoner’s neck isn’t lost on anyone here, I’m sure. But if you consented to the binding, there’s no rule forbidding it. The Order’s laws care about consent, not pride.”
Cedric felt every pair of eyes like a physical pressure.The lead ring on his finger felt impossibly heavy. Samantha’s hand returned to his thigh under the desk, a flat, claiming press of her palm.
“Therefore,” the professor continued, her tone shifting back to brisk academicism, “for the purposes of my class, you are currently a non-channeler. You cannot perform practical work.” She adjusted her glasses, her gaze lingering on his face, which was now burning with a humiliated heat. “So, next time, Mr. Thornwood, you will need to ask your… owner… for permission to use magic during my lectures.Formally. I’ll require a note.”
A stifled snort came from somewhere to his right. Samantha’s fingers tightened, her nails digging in just enough to pinch.Cedric nodded, a quick, jerky motion. “Yes, Professor.”
“Carry on.” Professor Lighttouch turned and walked back toward the lectern, her lizard familiar scampering after her with a clicking of claws on stone.
The remaining class time bled into a formless haze of shame. Cedric stared at the unchanged lump of lead on his desk, the grey mockery of the ring on his own finger. Whispers slithered around him, words like “leash-boy” and “pet” punctuated by sharp, muted laughs. Samantha spent the rest of the period languidly sketching intricate geometric patterns in her notebook, her thigh a constant, warm line against his. She didn’t look at him again, but her possessive grip never relaxed.
When the dismissal bell chimed, she finally released him. She snapped her book shut and stood in one smooth, powerful motion.“Up,” she commanded, not looking back.
He fumbled his things together, the lead nugget rolling off the desk and clattering on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, shoving it into his bag as students streamed past him, their shoulders bumping his. By the time he straightened, Samantha was already at the end of the row, waiting with an impatient tilt of her head.He hurried after her, the collar cold against his clammy skin. She fell into step beside him as they merged into the hallway traffic.
“Well,” she said, her voice light and conversational, “that was educational for everyone, wasn’t it?” She glanced at him, her smirk devoid of any warmth.“You’re officially a cautionary tale, Cedric. ‘Don’t let your imp get too clever, or you’ll end up like Thornwood.’ It has a ring to it.”
He kept his eyes on the worn stones of the floor. “Yes, Ma’am.”
She stopped suddenly, forcing the flow of students to part around them. She grabbed his chin again, lifting his face until he had to meet her icy blue gaze. “You should be thanking me, you know.I’m the only thing giving you any status at all now. Without my… attention… you’re just a boy with a fancy dog collar. With it, you’re at least my boy with a fancy dog collar.Understand the difference?”
He did. The understanding was a cold, heavy stone in his gut. “I understand, Miss Hinkley.”
“Good.” She released him.“Now, let’s go find your demon. I want to hear you ask her for permission to do your homework.” She started walking again, her stride confident. “And I want to watch her say no.”
The walk from the Transmutation hall to the Alchemical Principles lecture was a silent, tense procession. Samantha kept her hand on the back of Cedric’s neck, not gripping, just resting there—a brand of ownership for all the passing students to see. Her fingers absently kneaded the tense muscle where the collar met his skin. “You’re walking too stiffly,” she chided, her tone light, almost sing-song. “Relax. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a new, more honest beginning.”
He tried to obey, forcing his shoulders down, but the weight of the lead ring on his finger and the seal around his throat made honesty feel like a suffocating blanket. The next lecture hall was smaller, more intimate, with workbenches instead of desks. The air smelled of ozone and dried herbs. Samantha steered him to a bench at the back, away from the main cluster of students.
“Sit,” she said, pulling out the stool for him like a servant. He sat. She settled beside him, close enough that her hip pressed against his. She unpacked her supplies: a pristine brass brazier, a set of crystal measuring tubes, a bag of purifying salts. Cedric’s own kit, a standard-issue canvas roll, felt shabby in comparison. He unrolled it, arranging the components with deliberate care, a feeble attempt at normalcy.
Professor Lighttouch entered, her lizard familiar scampering ahead to sniff at the leg of a workbench. She launched immediately into a complex discussion of sympathetic resonance in compound reagents. Her words washed over Cedric, a stream of technical data his mind, usually so eager to grasp it, struggled to hold. The theoretical knowledge was still there, intact and perfect, but it felt divorced from him now—a library he could visit but never take a book from.
He focused anyway, because Vexia had ordered it. His eyes stayed on the professor, his pen moving automatically in his notebook, transcribing formulas. His obedience was a quiet, inward collapse.
Halfway through the lecture, during a demonstration on stabilizing a mercurial solution, Samantha’s hand left her own notes. She reached over and began stroking his hair. Her fingers slid through the mousy brown strands, from his temple to the nape of his neck, rhythmically, methodically. It was a patronizing, proprietary gesture. He froze, his pen stopping mid-equation.
“Shhh,” she whispered, not looking at him, her eyes on the professor as the solution in the crucible shifted from silver to a stable gold. “Good boy. Just paying attention, like you’re supposed to.” Her voice was low, a private hum of approval. She scratched lightly at his scalp, and a traitorous part of him leaned into the touch. The warmth of her hand was a stark contrast to the metal at his throat.
He knew he should feel humiliated. This was a gesture for a pet, for something beloved but lesser. The occasional glances from other students confirmed it—their looks were a mix of curiosity and contempt. Yet, beneath the sharp sting of shame, a deeper, quieter sensation uncoiled. It was a relief. The complexity of will, of choice, of resisting stronger currents, was gone. Here, in this moment, his purpose was simple: sit, listen, accept the touch granted to him.
The simplicity was a narcotic. He exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and his shoulders loosened. Samantha felt the surrender. Her smirk softened into something more genuine, more pleased. “See?” she murmured. “Isn’t this easier?”
The final bell rang, a clear, sharp chime that shattered the focused quiet of the lab. Students began capping reagents and shutting down braziers. Cedric slowly capped his inkwell. As the room began to empty, the main door to the hallway swung open.
Vexia stood in the threshold, backlit by the corridor’s witchlight. Her crimson skin seemed to glow, and her amber eyes found Cedric instantly, dismissing everyone else. In one hand, she held a length of fine, black leather. A leash. It ended in a polished brass clasp. She tapped it against her thigh.
The lingering students fell silent, their packing halted. Professor Lighttouch paused in her conversation with a student, her eyes narrowing behind her spectacles at the sight of the imp in the academic space. Samantha slowly leaned back on her stool, a delighted, anticipatory smile spreading across her face. She crossed her arms, settling in for the show.
Vexia’s boot heels clicked on the stone floor as she strode into the room, her tail swaying with relaxed authority. She ignored the professor, ignored the stares, and walked directly to their workbench. She looked Cedric up and down, then at Samantha’s hand, which had stilled in his hair.
“Class is over,” Vexia stated, her voice carrying in the hushed room. She held up the leash, the brass clasp glinting. “Here, boy.” The words were devoid of malice, simple and direct, like calling a cat in for supper. “It’s time to take you home.” She unclipped the leash, holding it open, waiting.
Cedric’s heart hammered against his ribs. Every eye was on him. Samantha’s breath was an eager whisper near his ear. He looked from Vexia’s impassive, expectant face to the open clasp. The lead ring on his finger was a dull, dead weight. The collar around his neck was the only truth left.
He bent his head forward, presenting the O-ring at the back of the collar. The metal was cool against his skin. He heard the sharp, definitive click as the clasp fastened into place. The sound was louder than the bell had been. It sealed the room’s silence.
Vexia gave the leash a gentle, testing tug. “Come.”